Come to me
by AirborneGirl
Summary: You hate having to do this. But he's gone too far and now you will have to force his hand. Chris will get the help he needs, whether he want to or not. Cherri-story, Brody's pov. Rating for mentioning adult issues.
**AN:** Welcome to my very first NCIS: New Orleans fic. I've been a Cherri-shipper from the very first moment (we've just started season 2 over here) and I hope you all enjoy what I did to/with/for them.

 **Spoilers** : Sets somewhere after 2x04, after the boys come back from their night out.

 **Disclaimer** : Sadly, none of the characters belong to me.

 **Come to me**

He's gone out again. Boy's night with Patton and Sebastian (an image that still baffles you, honestly) and from the looks of things (not to mention the stories), it was a success. Like almost every night, at least from Christopher LaSalle's pov. If success can indeed be measured in the amount of girls one could pick up with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

Oh there's no denial on your part that the man has his merits. He's genuinely nice, kind-hearted, chivalrous and yes, pretty easy on the eyes. You can't exactly blame the slew of women willingly falling prey to his charm and the twinkle in his deep blue orbs, subsequently ending up in bed with him, one after another. And if this was just about a single, attractive and kind man having some innocent fun with consenting adults, you wouldn't even dream of climbing on your high horse and judge them. It's not like you're the equivalent of the Virgin Mary.

Like you don't blame the man himself for the coping method of his choice, no matter how destructive it could be in the end.

Your own strategy (putting up more armor than an armadillo and/or running to the other side of the country when things got a little too close for comfort) isn't really all that better, so who are you to judge him?

And yet…you wish he would deal with his pain of losing Savannah and the subsequent survivor's guilt in a different way.

You're not jealous (really, you're not). But you do like the man quite a lot and it hurts you to see him go through the struggle of keeping up a happy face every single day. It doesn't take your honed investigator skills to see that he's about ready to break clean in half, running on a combination of adrenaline, coffee and perhaps an average of three hours a night of fitful sleep.

Underneath the love-bites he shows off as God dang war trophies, he's pale and worn. His blue eyes have bags underneath them. The easy smile seems strained. The joking hollow. The hue in his eyes matted, subdued. The skin sallow. He's merely going through the motions, still doing a good job; but for how much longer?

You all see it, maybe except for Sonja, but who can blame the new girl for not knowing him that well yet? For not being able to look past the mask of indifference. Chris seems to like the regular baiting, so perhaps, in her own way, the junior agent is indeed contributing something to his healing.

Unlike you.

Because yes, if you're honest, that's what's bothering you most. Again, you're not at all jealous, but it irks you. This constant notion that you're somehow losing your ground with him, little by little. Looking at it logically, it's not so incomprehensible. You're no rookie. You've got some years of experience under your belt and even though you had to find your way around the city and the team when you first arrived, you never had to start training from scratch, like Sonja.

It's perfectly logical LaSalle was teamed up with the new probie, to be her mentor and trainer. He had a lot to teach and was perhaps more comfortable with the sassy former DEA agent than your boss Dwayne Pride would be. Or you, for that matter. You're nobody's teacher; you simply lack the patience.

And you really don't mind being partnered up with the senior agent. Dwayne is a good man. Kind when he can be, stern when the situation calls for it. You like him and trust him and his judgement. You know you get the job done.

Having said that, so did you and Chris, when you were partnered up. You made a great team. You had complete faith in each other, getting to a point where you could predict his actions and adjust accordingly without having to exchange as much as a look.

And when you finally let your guard down and allowed yourself to be swallowed up by this city, this team, this family, he proved to be the sweet, fun guy you've come to lo…care for so much. A true friend. Which was saying a lot.

That's why you had hoped that he would have come to you, when his world was crumbling to dust around him. When first the false accusations against his bipolar brother Cade and then the murder of his girlfriend had brought the once to resilient, exuberant man down on his knees.

You'd given him Emily's necklace to wear the St. Christopher's pendant on; the memento he'd gotten from Savannah's dad. It was a gesture meant to help him heal and at the same time for you to let a part of your beloved twin sister's memory go in a most beloved way. And without mentioning it; you had hoped he would come to see it as an invitation from you.

Come to me when you want to talk. Come to me when you need to cry. Or laugh. Sleep. Rant. Brood. Whatever you need, I'll help you get it, if only you come to me.

Just come to me…

He hadn't, obviously. He'd turned to King, which wasn't surprising. But then he'd turned to alcohol. To wild nights out. To one anonymous willing warm body after another. To inviting bloody newbie Sonja to their all guys night out, even though she rejected.

To anyone but you.

And honestly, you don't care how childish it makes you sound, but you're hurt by it, really hurt. Why, all of a sudden, are you not good enough to confide in anymore? Where had your faith in each other gone? Were these weeks of not working side by side enough to deteriorate your bond as he now bonded more and more with bloody newbie Sonja?

Bloody newbie turned you into a real sourpuss. She doesn't really deserve your resentment; she couldn't possibly know about your feelings for Chris (friendly feelings; mind you. Nothing remotely romantic about them) and so she can't be held accountable for the way she's interacting with him (too loud; too obnoxious; too shallow).

Problem is; you feel left out. The distance between the both of you, whether Chris is creating it intentionally or not, has also cut off your lifeline. Much as you had hoped (and still do) he would turn to you, you had also hoped, and perhaps selfishly even more, that you could turn to him too. This whole mystery with your sister's pictures has unsettled you more than you've let on and while you're absolutely grateful for all the digging Sebastian is doing on your behalf, he's not the kind of guy you can pour out your emotions to. For a long time, Chris was.

Now? Not so much. Not only is he too absorbed and too preoccupied with his own mess; he's also lost quite a bit of his natural perception. Some time ago; he would have picked up on your distress without you mentioning anything being wrong and not only that; he would have offered his help and support.

And as long as you don't know who to blame, you silently blame the bloody newbie. And phooey to all who say that's juvenile!

God, you wish you could concentrate on the movie you're attempting to watch. It's gotten some great reviews on several social media and you've downloaded it weeks ago, hoping for a quiet evening to enjoy it. But you're too distracted by your thoughts of your partner (trying to steer your mind well away from the image if him wrapped up in yet another girl's arms) to follow the plot, the subplot and the many twists and turns it involves. It's really not the movie, you suppose. Had you been able to focus, you're sure you would have enjoyed it. It's just you. You and your unrequited feelings for very Special Agent Christopher LaSalle.

Because yes, damn it, you love him!

There; you said it. Or thought it, at least.

Admit it, Meredith Brody. This whole thing of feeling left out, this whole ruse of wanting to give comfort to a friend is nothing but smoke and mirrors. An illusion. A bad, sad cover for the truth you know you need to keep hidden; buried deep underneath a blanket of professional courtesy and familiar friendship.

The plain and simple truth being that you love him.

Which makes you no better than him when it comes to your behavior. You're as much a liar when it comes to using people as he is. You use James every time he happens to come to the city for a few 'no strings attached' days with you, although you know it's by mutual understanding that there's no future for the both of you beyond your occasional hookups. You use whatever guy asks you out on a date, never telling any of them they're meant as nothing more than a distraction; or perhaps a very sorry attempt to make yourself fall in love with any of them instead.

Which you never do.

In the end; what's the difference between you and Chris really, except perhaps for the frequency with which you take people you don't love (or at least not enough to seriously contemplate a future with) into your bed?

Ugh! You might as well give up on the movie. Watch it later, much later, when you may just not have your thoughts completely revolve around your work and work only partner. Grabbing the remote, you shut off the TV and for a moment, revel in the silence, until it too grips you by the throat. Cursing your fate, you switch the device back on and choose a music channel. It's not really the kind of music you prefer, but at least it somewhat drowns out the thundering of thoughts and feelings buried in your heart.

You've turned up the volume so much, you almost miss the insistent knocking on your door. Only in between two thumping melodies, do you pick up on it. You're not really in the mood for company and your place is a mess, but you're still a federal agent and the mere possibility that one of your coworkers is in trouble makes you drag yourself to the front door, opening it wide to reveal…

Oh great.

Your traitorous heart instantly increases the frequency of its beats at the very first recognition of its mate of choice, yet your brain is still sharp enough to notice that Christopher LaSalle is not here for a social call.

He's drunk. He's morose. He's angry.

And now your stupid wish has come true and he's come to you. For what though?

Your vehemently wish your heart would just stick to its primal function of pumping your blood around your body and just stop interfering with your feelings. Doesn't it know it's being lied to, trampled upon? That you don't need it to make you believe in fairytales?

It's bogus, this idea of your heart that everything would magically work itself out the very moment he would show up on your doorstep. The scenario where you would open your arms to him and he would let you soothe him, where he would be so grateful that he would finally open his eyes and see that his true love was right in front of him all along? Absolute bullshit.

The reality? He stumbles in; mumbling something you don't understand and spilling the small amount of stale beer still left in the bottle he's carrying on your floor, too buzzed to notice, let alone apologize.

Drinking the last swig, he drops the now empty bottle in the sink and makes his way to a kitchen chair, barely having the balance to sit down on it.

You want to ask what he's doing here, what he thinks he can get from you, but you're terrified of the answer. What if his luck with the ladies has finally run out and you're his last resort? Or what if he needs a motherly figure to hug him and tell him it's all going to be okay? Which scenario are you least comfortable with? Which one is the least degrading?

Your heart and brains have seemingly both stopped working. Great. You're on your own.

Suddenly, he starts speaking, slurring his words as crocodile tears track dirty paths down his cheeks.

"She said I was a mess."

Huh? What's he talking about? Who's he talking about?

"Who said that, Chris? Please start from the beginning."

"This chick at the bar. She was pretty, she seemed into me, so I bought her a drink and then I asked her to come back to my place with me, but then suddenly she wasn't into me after all. I tried all my regular moves on her, but she was too stuck-up and snooty. She told me I was pathetic and a disgusting mess and that I obviously needed help."

If the situation wasn't so sad, you would have laughed and applauded the girl who was the first in a long line of women to reject Christopher LaSalle.

"Am I really a mess, Merri?"

Well no shit Sherlock!

"Chris…"

"Do you think I need help?"

Two for two. Good boy. But what does he want from you exactly?

"Honestly? I think you do."

You try to make it sound as neutral as you can, but either because of his drunken state or your own feelings; he's not buying it.

"Just like I thought, you're disgusted with me too. You're judging me too, Merri. Even you. You all say you feel sorry for me, but none of you care."

Oh boy. This is gonna be a very long night if he keeps this up.

"We do care. I do care. And no, Chris, I'm not judging you. I'm not disgusted, I have no reason to be. I know you're hurting, I know that you've had a lot to deal with these past few months and I'm not passing judgment on you. But I am worried. As your coworker, partner and hopefully your friend, I don't like to see you suffer and this coping mechanism of yours…we both know it's not working."

He snorts.

"Not on this chick. She looked at me as if I'm scum. And perhaps I am. My momma raised me to be a gentleman. And I can be, but I…why can't all women be like you?"

What? WHAT!?

Your vocal chords abandon you and you gasp like a fish out of water. Chris stands and walks toward you and before you know it you're wrapped up in his overly affectionate, clumsy embrace. He's still slobbering as he holds onto you like you're his lifeline. Which tonight, perhaps you really are.

"You're always so pretty. Always so secure. And kind to me. And sexy. Even in yoga pants and shirt. So soft and sweet and sexy. My Brody. My Merri. All mine. All women should be you."

He's drunk, you remind yourself. Totally off his rocker, drunk as a skunk. His ramblings aren't worth a damn thing and he'll have forgotten all about it in the morning.

The best thing for you to do right now is humor him, get some strong coffee into him and let him sleep it off on your couch. Oh, and a shower. Bama boy here is a tad ripe, smelling like a skunk too.

"Sure thing, Big Al."

He grins stupidly at you.

"That was my nickname in High School!"

"I know."

"You know everything. Smart Merri. You also know I have a tattoo on my derriere? Wanna see?"

He's already fumbling with his belt so he can pull his jeans down, eager as a puppy to show you the famous elephant tattoo on his backside. You barely manage to stop him from embarrassing the both of you, even if he wouldn't remember a thing.

You would. You most certainly would.

"I know that too. And no, I don't have to see it to believe it."

He huffs, like you have denied him a little guilty pleasure, but at least he lets go of his buckle.

"Come on, Bama boy. You need a shower. Badly."

"Merri wanna see me nekked after all."

Sure you do. You're just not about to confess that to him. No way. Memories have a tendency to come back and with your luck, this would be the one thing he'd recall.

"Merri just doesn't want her home smelling like a brewery. Now come on, chop-chop."

Like the dutiful partner you are, you take him to the bathroom, hand him a towel, a bar of soap and a washcloth and turn the water on for him.

"Get undressed and in there. Leave the bathroom door ajar and toss your clothes outside of them. I'll clean them for you."

He willingly succumbs to your pushing and you exit the bathroom, giving him some privacy. When you see him drop his clothes on a pile right outside the door and then hear him step under the spray, you relax a little. He should be fine for the next few minutes.

In your bedroom, you rummage in your drawers for something for him to wear, remembering James left some things behind after his last visit. Though your occasional booty call is a bit taller than your partner, you think he'll fit into the track suit you manage to dig up. Chris's jeans and shirt find their way into your laundry basket. His boxers you leave out for him (are you really holding his boxers, the ones he's been wearing all day, and were still wrapped around his undoubtedly fine ass just a few minutes ago?) hoping they were clean when he put them on in the morning.

Some twenty minutes later, Chris emerges, towel wrapped precariously low around his waist (you're not ogling, you're merely concerned for his welfare), still quite inebriated but at least no longer smelling like a hobo. It's a tad disconcerting to smell the delicate perfume of your own soap on him, but it sure is one hell of a lot better than the alternative. You hand him the items to wear and leave him to it, taking some clean sheets from the linen closet to turn your couch into something resembling a bed.

When he comes out, stumbling a little because he's forgotten to roll up the ends of his pant legs, he looks a lot better than when he came in, but he's far from his alert self. Seeing the extra bed linens, his eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

"Am I staying?"

Didn't you just explain this to him? You can't remember.

"Yup. You are. You've done enough damage to the New Orleans nightlife for the day."

There's that droopy grin again.

"Sleeping with Sweet Merri. Sounds great."

"I'm sure it does. But you're sleeping on the couch, Romeo."

"Your bed looks big enough."

"Couch or floor. Take your pick."

He gives you his puppy dog look, pulling out all the stops, but you stand your ground (barely). Resigned to his terrible fate, he crawls between the sheets on the couch. As a final precaution, you set an empty bucket in front of him, with a washcloth and a glass of water and two aspirin.

"Not even a kiss goodnight?"

Damn, if only he wasn't so freakishly adorable!

You lean down and kiss his forehead like a mommy would kiss a five year old son.

"Goodnight, Chris."

"Got a kiss from Sweet Merri."

He mumbles, grinning like an idiot, before sleep claims him. You allow yourself the luxury of watching him for a few more minutes, before leaving the room and going to bed yourself, sending a quick text to King, just to let him know his prodigal son is safe for the night.

888

It's hot.

It's heavy.

Something's crawled on top of you. Weighing you down so badly you can hardly breathe. You wake up with a start, in a panic, heart pounding and sweat pouring down your face as something heavy is pinning you down onto the mattress. It takes your befuddled mind some time to assess the situation, but as realization sinks in, your adrenaline surges.

The thing holding you down is a person. A person who's trying to force his hands down your clothes. Trying to pepper your face and neck with slobbering kisses, rambling about how pretty you are and how sweet. His sweet Merri.

Oh no. Oh God no!

No, this can't be happening to you! This is not…

"Chris, stop!"

He doesn't. Goes on like he hasn't heard you. Like he hasn't noticed you're trying to resist him.

"Sweet Merri. I love you. I want you. You want me too, don't you? Please tell me you do."

He kisses your neck again and you can't help the tears forming in your eyes.

How many times have you dreamed about this? About him saying these exact same things to you? Getting him into bed with you? Making love to him, while staring in his deep ocean eyes as an unbreakable bond forms between not only your bodies, but your very souls?

This is no dream though. This is a nightmare. A sad, bad dream coming true as your drunk partner is basically trying to rape you.

Oh dear God. You know he would never hurt you in his normal state of mind. And you really don't want to hurt him either, but you can't let this go on. You've got to move, get away from this.

Suddenly, as his roaming hands try to grope your breasts, your basic survival instincts kick in as your body reacts to the unwelcome invasion with no regard for the identity of its assailant. Pushing with all strength and dexterity coming from your aikido lessons and fueled by your panic, you manage to drop him on the floor. Before he can get up and try anything again, you get up from the bed and hold him down. His eyes are unfocussed, but the fight's not out of him yet, so, with regret in your heart, your force his hands on his back and cuff him.

Your next words though seem to sober him up quite a bit as they come out of your mouth basically on automatic pilot.

"Christopher LaSalle, you're under arrest for the attempted rape of a federal agent. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you…"

The reading of his rights comes natural, but your heart is twisting painfully. Are you really doing this? Are you arresting your partner, your friend, the man who's already lost so much in his life?

Yes, yes you are. You have to. Not only did he, in fact, try to assault you; he's extremely fortunate it was you and not some other women who might not have been able to push him away. Yes, he's drunk and yes, he may have just been overly affectionate, thinking you were okay with this (and he may never know that, in very different circumstances, you would have been), but it is what it is and frankly, you think he's finally hit that famous rock bottom. Now all you can do is make sure he doesn't start digging an even bigger hole for himself.

You take the risk of putting him in a chair as you quickly get dressed. He sits there, subdued and silent. Until…

"Merri?"

It comes out scared, wounded. You don't look back. Can't allow his blue eyes to draw you in, up to a point where you remove his cuffs and let him go. You can't. Not if you want to force him to get the help he needs.

He tries again.

"Merri? Sweet Merri?"

"Special Agent Brody, please."

"I…I…I'm sorry. I didn't know what…I just…"

"Save it, LaSalle. I'm not in the mood to hear it."

You grab your phone, badge and gun and (still without looking at him) haul him up his feet.

"Let's go."

"Where are you taking me?"

"HQ for now. I need to discuss this with Pride."

He relaxes, but only a little, the growing fear in his eyes indicating he's caught on to the severity of his situation. Yet, he nods, also realizing you're doing him a favor by taking him to your boss first. You have all the right to take him straight to NOPD and have him charged, leaving him between the dozens of other scumbags of the city, some of which he has put there himself, which could get him into one heck of a mess being left alone in there with them. And if they indeed thought he had been trying to rape his own partner, not one of his formal coworkers would lend him a helping hand.

Rapists take a very low spot on the criminal food chain. Only child abusers rank lower.

You shove him in the back seat of your car and he doesn't protest. You sent a quick text to King to alert him you're on your way, feeling both determined as well as guilty for waking the man up in the middle of the night to bring in his surrogate son. With the news you have for him a sad added bonus.

The drive over is silent. Chris is looking down at his cuffed hands. You cuffed his hands in front of him after he promised not to resist any further. Hunched over like he is, he seems so much smaller now. A lost little boy who knows he's gone too far this time.

You let him step into the office in front of you and watch helplessly as King emerges from the kitchen, his eyebrows shooting up as he sees the cuffs on his second in command.

"Care to explain why Christopher's in handcuffs, Agent Brody?"

You swallow. This won't go down well.

"I arrested him, Pride."

"What charges?"

Forcing yourself to look him in the eyes, you answer.

"Attempted rape in the first degree."

Confusion mixes with incredible sadness on the older man's face, making him look tired and old. Your guilt over pushing this goes up a notch.

"Rape? Do we know the victim? Have charges been pressed already? Has she been heard? Checked? Is she capable of making a statement?"

"You do know the victim. It was…it was me, Pride. Chris sexually assaulted me."

The frown deepens as Pride turns to Chris for the first time.

"Christopher? What did you do, son?"

The added term of endearment causes the final straw to break on the so far subdued agent. Head hanging in shame, he forces himself to look up at his friend, his mentor.

"I eh…I got rejected at the bar by some girl. I felt lonely and sorry for myself. I took a cab and when the driver asked me where to go, I suddenly wanted to go to Merri. She was so sweet and kind to me and I…oh God, I was still drunk. I thought she was flirting with me. I went into her bedroom. She looked so pretty and sweet lying there. I crawled into bed with her and I…God I messed up real good this time, didn't I, King? I've really gone too far."

King sighs. Yes, he has gone too far. This is a serious matter, as all sexual assaults are. If Brody wants to press charges; she is well within her rights. And if Director Vance finds out (which he will if Brody decides it), then there is very little he can do for Chris. His career will be over at the very least.

Everything is now in the female agent's hands and though a part of him wants to beg her to go easy on Chris, he knows he can't do that. It's not his call and he still believes in justice being served, even when the perp is someone he cares for like family.

"Merri? Have you decided what you want to do yet?"

You've watched the conflicted emotions play over Pride's face and you know that if you go through with these charges, make them official, it will kill not only Chris, but your boss as well.

Are you willing to disrupt your family even further? Have Chris be removed from the team and learn to work with someone else? Feel the sadness and even the resentment of not only King, but possibly Sebastian, Sonja and Patton as well (somehow you think Loretta would understand)? Would they understand your motives? The sudden fear gripping you when you woke up finding the man you love forcing himself on you? Will they forgive you?

Will he?

"I want to talk to Chris. Alone. You can watch from the other side if you want."

Pride nods and takes Chris by his arm. You interrupt him, taking out a small key and unlocking his cuffs, earning you a grateful look from both men.

Inside the interrogation room, he sits down meekly, but you're too wired to stay seated.

"Chris, look at me."

His eyes are full of anguish when he does.

"I don't want to press charges."

He heaves a sigh of relief, but you're not done with him yet.

"I'm not doing you any favors here. I'm doing this because I can't and won't disrupt the family we've built here. King needs you. The city needs you. But they need Special Agent Christopher LaSalle and this…this stranger sitting across from me is a far cry from anything special."

You finally do sit down. The fatigue of a disrupted night, following the many nights of worrying about when this once so good man would finally snap, is catching up with you.

"I care for you a lot, Chris. You have to know that. But what you did tonight is unacceptable. What if you had done the same to the girl rejecting you earlier? She would not have hesitated pressing charges against you and I would have supported her if she had. We're your family, but we can only protect you from yourself for so long. You're at the end, my friend, and if I don't want to see you destroy everything you have and everything you are, it's because I know the man you really are. And I want to give you a chance to be that man again."

"It's eh...it's a lot more than I deserve. I'm so endlessly sorry, Merri. I…I don't know what else to say."

"All I need for you is to listen to me. Can you do that?"

He nods.

"You're going to get help. I suggest you find a good therapist, one who's specialized in PTSD and grief counseling. You will go there. You will stay away from me or the office during working hours for the duration of your treatment. I'm sure King can come up with a valid reason for your absence. When you come back, you won't be partnered with me for a while until I hear from King and see for myself that you're actually behaving. No going out until late at night. No women. No excessive drinking. Understood? If you screw up, I'll have your ass in jail so soon you won't know what hit you."

Another meek nod. And for a moment, you feel sorry for him. Damn it, you really know how to kick a dog when it's down, don't you? Got to give him some good news too.

"Good. In exchange, none of what happened tonight will leave this room. It'll be only you, me and King knowing about this. I won't tell a soul and I will welcome you back with open arms when you come back. We'll begin with a clean slate. I just…all I want is my friend back. I know he's in there somewhere. Find him again and we'll be okay. I promise."

You lean over and put your hand on his. He clamps it and holds on for dear life. For one moment, the bond between you is there again and you both revel in it, see it as a sign that one day, your severed ties will be mended.

"I promise too, Merri. I'll get the help I need. You will get the old Chris back. I want to be him again."

"Good. I'm glad, Chris. Pride, can you come in?"

The older man comes in, relief and determination both visible on his face. He is obviously extremely grateful you won't have his protégé kicked to the curb. But he also knows just as well as you do that your demands on Chris are not unreasonable. In fact, he's not only been listening, he's been writing down everything you said. Every statement you made and had Chris agree upon is on paper. He hands the notebook to Chris, along with a pen.

"Sign it son."

Chris nods, reads and signs. Pride hands it to you next and you too sign it. After he adds his own signature, Pride rips the pages from the notebook and folds then into his jeans.

"This is the only copy of what we agreed upon. I'll hold onto it. If anything should happen, Merri can use this as evidence. We'll destroy it as soon as Christopher has come back to us after his successful therapy. And you will be successful, son. We all believe in you."

You all agree. Suddenly, you can't repress a yawn. Seeing it, King ends your nightly meeting.

"You go home Brody. Get some sleep. Christopher, you can stay here with me. We'll discuss your therapy further in the morning, when we're not too tired to think. Merri, want to join us tomorrow?"

You shake your head.

"You'll find him someplace good, okay?"

"You know I will. Goodnight, Merri."

"Can I have one more moment with Chris, please? In private this time?"

"Sure. I'll see you upstairs, son."

He closes the door behind him. Chris stands there, looking a little less helpless than before.

"I believe in you Chris. I just thought you should know that."

"Thanks, Merri. I…I owe you. So much. And I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"I know. So eh…this is goodbye then. At least for a while."

"Yeah, I guess. You eh…you be careful okay?"

"I will. I'll miss my partner."

"I'm sure Pride will look after you."

"I'm not so sure. I just sent his heir apparent off."

"It needs to be done. I know that now. I'm not proud of myself."

"You're getting help now. That's all that matters."

He smiles with a hint of the old Chris back in place.

"I may be way out of line for asking this and feel free to kick me in the nuts instead, but…can I hug you Merri? Just as a goodbye?"

You want to, but you don't think you can. So you shake your head and settle for gently caressing his stubbly cheek. He eagerly leans into your palm, reveling in the contact, however minute it is.

"Bye Chris. I'll hug you when you get back okay?"

"Okay. Bye sweet Merri."

Quickly, you make a mad dash for the door, running all the way to your car and climbing inside. There you remain sitting in the parking lot for half an hour, unable to start the car because of the tears obstructing your view.

Chris will be gone come Monday. For a long time.

And despite of what has happened tonight, you know you'll miss him.

Damned it, you already do.

888

Three months. It has been three months since you've last seen Chris. And even though, much to your surprise, Director Vance has sent no other than Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo over from the Washington office to temporarily replace him and even though Pride has reassured you time and time again that he found Chris the best help available (in Alabama; at Chris's own request), you miss him. Terribly so.

Between the two of you, you've spun a plausible scenario for the agent's disappearance, being honest about him going into counseling to deal with his grief, but not about what caused him to suddenly take the step he had till then been resisting to take. So far, nobody seems to question the story they've been fed and not even when you're alone with Pride, do you discuss the true reason he's gone.

You can tell though that Pride misses him almost as much as you do. Almost. Which is strange, because how can you miss the very same man who was trying to force himself on you?

How can you feel guilty for making him go away? How can your dreams still be filled with his smiling, sweet image?

How can you still be so undeniably in love with Christopher LaSalle, wondering every waking moment what he's doing? If he's okay? If he's thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him? If he resents you? Hates you? Or perhaps truly loves you?

The pressure is getting to you and you're snappish and irritable because of it. Then, when the bough is about to break and Pride threatens to send you on your own little therapeutic retreat, you decide to follow his own advice and find a therapist for yourself. The first one is a bust, a bitch of a woman, no softness about her and all about girl power to the max. If you have to believe her, there's a predator lurking on every street corner and no man is innocent till proven guilty.

Within ten minutes into your story, she's already scolding you for going soft on what she dubs a sexual maniac. You quit going to her after two sessions. Even if she has a point; you're not ready nor will you ever be ready to hear Chris being referred to as a common criminal, rather than a man who has temporarily lost his way.

The second therapist you try is one you like and trust on first site. As a former Marine shrink, she too knows her fair share of the havoc PTSD wrecks on a person and those around them. Her observations ad advice help you get your head back on straight, help you realize that your feelings for Chris are not crazy, that they are indeed valid and that perhaps, in due time, they might still signify the start of something beautiful between you and him.

She tells you it's okay to see his actions as a separate entity from the man he is. Recognizing his behavior as a result of untreated PTSD, coupled with survivor's guilt, is not the same as condoning it. And now that he is being treated and cooperating fully, forgiving him is not out of the question, but rather a choice you can make on your own without the need to justify it to anyone.

So far, he's written you a couple of letters, but has sent them to Pride instead, having learned not to force you into contact with him when you may not be ready. Pride has kept the letters in his desk and told you all you had to do is ask for it.

The first month, you didn't ask for it. By the end of the second month, your therapist (the good one), told you to get them and read them. If you felt like discussing it, you could. But after reading them, you didn't feel the need to. They were pretty benign. Friendly, apologetic and though perhaps not yet the LaSalle you miss, you're still confident he'll get there.

From what you hear from King (who does read the regular letters he receives as well as the official updates he gets from the therapist), Chris is working hard and is well on the mend, staying away from bars, women and alcohol and learning how to talk about his significant loss as well as the burden placed on his shoulders by taking care of his brother.

You hope he's feeling okay. That he'll soon come back to you, even though you genuinely like hanging out with Tony, who, for all his blustering, is a likable, intelligent man.

Today has been quite an uneventful day so far, even though it's still only lunchtime and lots of things could still happen. As it is, you've taken people's lunch orders and are now on your way back. When you arrive, you find the office space empty, but there's a lot of noise coming from the courtyard. You call out to them, but attract no attention whatsoever, all of them apparently distracted by something or someone else.

Carrying the bags of food with you, you step outside, calling to anyone willing to listen to grab plates and utensils before everything gets cold.

The small crowd disperses and everything suddenly seems to go in slow motion. There, in the middle of his family, stands the one and only Christopher LaSalle.

Damn, but he looks good. He's gained some weight (having lost quite a bit of it before), his skin is sun-kissed and almost golden, his eyes are bright and alive and his smile…oh dear lord, you're falling all over again, hard and fast.

Ordering your body to do something more productive than just stand there, you manage to take a few steps closer. Someone (you have no idea who) takes the food from you as you now come to stand right in front of him.

"Hi Merri."

"Chris. You're back."

"Yeah. And I'm good. Better at least. A lot better."

"Good, great. I'm happy. It's good to see you."

He smiles again, just for you and it's so wonderful to see that it's the real, patented Chris LaSalle smile, the one you had feared never to see again. It means you have no reservations when you remind him of the promise you made him before he left. Smiling through your own happy tears, you take the last step forward.

"I owe you a hug, don't I?"

"Yes, yes I believe you do."

He gently pulls you into his embrace and oh dear Lord, it's like Heaven. It's Chris, your Chris who's tenderly holding you, close but not too close, still weary of the damage he did to you and the bond you once shared.

The fear and resentment you were afraid you would feel towards him are nowhere to be found. All you feel is joy. Joy and relief that the man who's holding onto you is the one you were hoping to see, feel and have around you again.

"I missed you," you whisper in his ear and you swoon with delight as he pulls you in a little closer, echoing your words.

"I missed you too, my sweet Merri."

When you finally let go, you find yourselves being discretely abandoned by the others. You laugh sheepishly at him. For two fine-tuned, skilled agents, it's a bit disturbing to realize you haven't noticed your coworkers leaving, along with the food.

"Looks like they didn't leave us anything to eat."

Chris nods.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to take you to lunch myself then."

His face falls a little, realizing what he said.

"Unless I'm moving too fast and you don't wanna. Which I understand. We can join the others, or I could just…whatever you want. I don't wannna make this uncomfortable for ya."

Poor guy is genuinely scared of your reaction, like he's afraid you still think him capable of assaulting you, which you really don't. So you're quick to pacify him.

"The only thing making me feel uncomfortable is your squirming, LaSalle. I promised you that we would start with a clean slate when you came back and I think lunch is a great place to start. I'm hungry and besides, we'll be in a public place and I'm the one carrying the gun and the cuffs. I'm sure I'll be perfectly safe."

"Yeah, okay then. Let's go get something to eat."

You quickly poke your head inside to tell King where you're going. The two of you exchange a quick glance, which tells you he too believes his long lost boy has found his way back to the flock.

Lunch is actually a nice affair. The restaurant you picked is full and neither one of you feels like waiting for a table. Instead, you opt for take-out and find a spot in the park to have an impromptu picnic. Chris, once again the gentleman he was before, spreads out his jacket for you to sit on and gingerly sits down next to you. You hand him his shrimp sandwich and a bottle of water and he takes a big and eager bite, relishing his food like the old days. You're not aware of your staring until he playfully calls you out on it.

"Is it really that interesting to watch me eat, Brody?"

Blushing slightly, you take a bite of your own sandwich to mask the flutter of emotions fighting for dominance in your stomach. Not knowing what to say, you let the first thing that comes to your mind pop out.

"I went to see a therapist too."

What?! Where did that come from? Chris almost chokes on his food, but manages to wash it away with some water. His gaze is once again dark and serious when he focusses on you.

"Because of me? Of…what I did to ya?"

Better be honest. Lies will get you nowhere soon.

"That was part of it. But just a part. I've been wondering about a lot of things. And yes, a lot of it involved you, but also things of the past."

"You know you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I know. But I think I need to. This clean slate things should work both ways, don't you think?"

"Of course. I'll listen if you want me to."

It's been so long since you've gotten his undivided attention. Without his mind being clouded over by his own problems. You've almost forgotten what it feels like to have a man like Chris in your corner but damned if it doesn't feel awesome.

"When you were spiraling down, I wanted you to come to me, see me as the friend I was trying to be, but at the same time, I was relieved, because I had no idea how to help you, other than offer my support. I felt so completely useless. I had felt like that before and it wasn't pretty then either."

"Moultrie?"

You nod, taking a deep breath and a swig of water before continuing.

"That night, I took some desperate measures. I wasn't afraid of you as much as I was afraid of what else would happen to you. But when you were gone, I felt conflicted. You assaulted me and I missed you. You broke my trust and I missed you. It took some long talks with my therapist to come to terms with the fact that the man I basically sent away had not been the same man I was missing for a very long time. That what you did and who I knew you to be were two different things altogether."

"And I'll never ever do that to you again, Merri. I swear it."

"I know. I believe you. I believe we can rebuild our friendship, step by step. I'm actually looking forward to it."

He gently takes your hand in his.

"So am I. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

He sighs.

"Ironic, isn't it? That you ended up saving my life by pushing me away that night? I sometimes wonder what would have become of me, how much further I would have allowed myself to drop if it hadn't been for you."

"Don't you think it's rather pointless to look back? You worked hard on yourself, Chris. I've read your letters and with every one of them, I felt a bit of my Chris coming back. Be proud of what you've achieved and stop looking back."

He smiles, but proves how much more alert he is by teasingly pointing out your little admission.

"Your Chris?"

Again, you try to hide your blush, but then decide to throw caution to the wind.

"My Chris."

His reaction is priceless. And precious at the same time. He lifts the hand he's still holding to his lips and kisses the back of it.

"I like the sound of that. One day soon, Merri, I will be. Your Chris. I promise."

One day. Well, that day can't get there soon enough.

888

It's strange, wonderful but strange to have Chris back on the team again. As agreed upon, he gets teamed up with either Sonja or King for the first few weeks and it looks like he's settling in pretty well. The first night out with the boys you have to admit you're a bit nervous, but when you get a message right after midnight showing a picture of a perfectly sober LaSalle getting ready for bed (alone) and wishing you sweet dreams, your heart calms down.

He's safe.

He's been back for almost a month when King slips. While canvassing a rather touch neighborhood where you've found the body of a recently medically discharged Petty Officer in his ransacked apartment, he gives the order you must have heard dozens of times before, only not recently in this particular combination.

"Percy, go talk to the neighbors, see if someone's seen anyone coming in. LaSalle, Brody, you go talk to his superior officer. I'll meet you back at the precinct. Go, learn things."

He's so preoccupied with the investigation it seems like he hasn't noticed his breach of your agreement, but perhaps it's time to find your footing as work partners as well. So without hesitation, you follow him to his truck and get into the passenger's side.

The first few minutes it's a bit awkward, but then you drink the remainder of his coffee and he steals your last donut in retaliation and as you try to get it back, only to have him take a bite and grin like an idiot over his small victory, you both realize how completely normal this is for you.

That afternoon, at the end of a long but productive working day (you have successfully narrowed down the list of suspects to his former team members; some of whom were involved in trafficking prescription medication from the clinic the deceased was being treated at), you ask both your partner as well as King to meet you in the courtyard.

Once both men are there, you turn to your boss.

"Pride, you got the papers with you?"

He doesn't need to ask what you mean, just nods and takes the handwritten notes from his pocket, handing them to you.

"Chris, you got a light?"

Looking around him, he sees a matchbox near the barbecue and hands it to you too. Moving closer to the barbeque, you smile.

"Gentlemen, after today, I believe it's time to officially put this sorry piece of history behind us. Chris is back where he belongs, stronger and better than ever and I want to let both of you know that I trust him completely and that I'm happy to have my partner back one hundred percent."

Pride smiles, more than happy to get rid of this last piece of evidence to Chris's darker times. But when you hand the matches and papers to Chris to let him to the honors, he hesitates.

"Mebbe I should hang on to it. Ya know, as a reminder of what I never ever want to risk again."

Shaking your head, you press the matches back into his hand.

"I'll remind you if I need to. You don't need these papers. You deserve to see them disappear. We all do. Let's move on."

Taking a deep breath, he nods and strikes a match, holding the paper close until it catches fire and dropping the burning wad into the barbecue, watching as it curls, crumples and turns into ashes. Erasing his indiscretions. A clean slate.

And if he's trembling as he pulls you into a hug, then that's okay, because so are you. King has disappeared inside to give you some space, but comes back out when Chris reluctantly lets go of you, carrying some delicious looking steaks and a bottle of one of his special sauces.

"Let's build ourselves a party! Brody, I got some beers cold, wanna go get them?"

You nod and get the bottles from the fridge, noticing that there are alcohol free beers as well. Good, you'll take those. You hand out the cold drinks and the three of you sit down on the patio, just talking while waiting for the meat to be grilled just right. When Loretta wanders in, asking what the party is all about, you just shrug and pull up another chair. The older woman doesn't ask questions, simply enjoying the company and bringing some news.

"Guys, I've rented the nicest little bungalow for the Fourth of July. Just beside Lake Pontchartrain, ideal to watch the fireworks from the city. You're all invited and I won't take no for an answer. It Laurel's in town, she's more than welcome to join too. So are any of your friends and family. I want to celebrate having our Christopher back. We sure missed you, dear boy."

As an answer, Chris raises his bottle to her.

"Sounds great to me, Miss Wade."

"Good. Merri, what about you?"

"I'll be there."

After prying a confirmation from King out of him, Loretta leans back, satisfied. Conversation flows around you, the steaks are excellent and the company is pleasant. You feel yourself doze off a little in the late evening sun, only waking up when Chris's hand slightly touches yours.

"You dozed off on us, Merri. Let me get you home, okay? It's been a long day."

"Long but satisfactory, don't you think?"

"Oh very much so."

The two of you say your goodbyes to King and Loretta and make your way home, where Chris, ever chivalrous, walks you to your door. You hesitate on the doorstep for a moment.

"You eh…you wanna come in for a while?"

Chris sighs and ruefully shakes his head. He hasn't set foot inside your home since 'it' happened and he's still quite a bit apprehensive. Seeing his genuinely fearful look, you decide not to press the matter. There's plenty of time.

"Okay. Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure, sweet Merri. Goodnight and I'll see you tomorrow."

In the next few days, you work the case as partners, side by side. It's getting warm in the city as the Fourth of July creeps up on you. On the day itself, Chris pulls over to your place ridiculously early in the morning, considering the fact you have quite some miles to go. Packing a bag with party goodies and a bikini (there's a lake and a swimming pool to choose from), you get into the car, smiling gratefully at the steaming cup of coffee waiting for you.

"Good morning, Chris."

"Mornin' sweet Merri."

He hasn't stopped calling you that since his return and quite frankly, you like it. A lot. When, after a relaxed ride, you arrive, you have to admit the place is beautiful. There's a huge yard outside and Danny and CJ are already playing football with Percy and Sebastian. The two of you are immediately corralled into playing along, with Chris, Sebastian and CJ playing against you, Percy and Danny.

You like being on the opposite team of Chris. It gives you the ultimate excuse to tackle him, which, shrieking with glee, you promptly do, catching him completely by surprise and wriggling the ball from his hands, passing it to Danny, who outmaneuvers Sebastian and scores.

Neither one of you notices his honorary lap around the field though. You're lying on top of your partner, straddling him and panting with the exertion of tackling him to the ground. He too is breathing hard, but he's smiling brightly, clearly having fun and clearly not minding one bit that his partner his him pinned down.

His eyes are sparkling and bright. His grin is genuine and infectious.

He's yours for the taking and you no longer have the willpower to fight it.

Leaning down, you place your lips against his and as he eagerly kisses you back, you know. And so does he. Between kisses, he looks you in the eyes.

"I'm yours, sweet Merri. Your Chris."

"And I'm your Merri."

888

When a baffled Laurel tells her dad that his two senior agents are making out like teenagers on the front lawn, Pride can only smile, not caring cahoots about fraternization rules.

And when he watches them hold on to each other as they are watching the fireworks display across the lake, his heart is at peace for his surrogate son for the first time in a long time.

Christopher LaSalle is back.

It's all a father could wish for.

THE END.


End file.
